


Loyalty

by TheRedWulf



Series: Roosa One Shots [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Battle of Winterfell, Canon-Typical Violence, Excuse for smut, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Loss of Virginity, OOC, Our Blades are Sharp, Out of Character, Pregnancy, Roosa - Freeform, Smut, Wedding Night, did I mention smut?, flaying, plot holes, plot holes everywhere
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-29
Updated: 2019-08-29
Packaged: 2020-09-28 22:22:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20433422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRedWulf/pseuds/TheRedWulf
Summary: AU - In which a loyal Lord Bolton marches on Winterfell to bring his Queen home...Picset is viewableHERE





	Loyalty

**Author's Note:**

> Definitely throwing canon WAY out the window here. Sorry not sorry. This AU focuses on Sansa tapping Lord Bolton for help to retake Winterfell. He is loyal to House Stark and is rewarded in kind. 
> 
> I don't consider myself a writer. This is unbeta'd so I apologize for any errors.
> 
> Thank you for reading!

“She’s here” Lord Bolton looked up to see the harried guard as he announced the Queen’s arrival. He gave a nod and stood, setting aside his work and making for the courtyard. 

He’d arrived in Winterfell several moons ago, re-taking the keep from the Lannister men who sought to destroy it after Robb Stark, the Young Wolf, fell in battle. Lady Sansa Stark, Robb’s heir and the last living Stark, had sent him a raven, asking him to join his men with the Knights of the Vale to retake the family seat. Asking him to help her to return home and unite the North. 

He had answered this call, even if it had cost him both Domeric and Ramsay in the bloody battle. Let it never be said that Bolton’s were not loyal. He had done his duty to the North and now she had come to do hers. 

He arrived in the courtyard as the gates opened to allow her entry. He stood, frozen in the snow, at the sight of her. He had expected red hair, as rumor spoke of, but he had not expected the tall, gorgeous woman who sat atop a pitch black destrier. 

She looked every inch the Queen she was. Her expression was cold, impassive, a Queen of Ice, he noted. At her side was Lord Yohn Royce, her advisor from the Vale of Arryn, a large imposing man in a suit of armor emblazoned with ancient runes. 

She reined to a stop and smoothly dismounted, her grey dress and black cloak swirling around her legs as she met the ground. She was quite tall for a woman, nearly looking him in the eye and standing taller than most around them. 

“Lord Bolton” she greeted, extending her gloved hands. He took them in his own and she gave a small smile. 

“Winterfell is yours, Your Grace,” he told her. 

“It is ours,” she said, her eyes, so wonderfully blue, were bright with emotion. “It is the North’s, as it always should be.”

He gave a nod of agreement, “Just so” he offered his arm, though he did not expect her to take it, so when she placed her hand on his arm he did well to cover his surprise. She gave a nod to Lord Royce who followed as he lead her into the Great Hall. 

He escorted her to the table beside the fireplace, allowing her to warm herself after the snowy journey. She removed her gloves, setting them on the table before unbuckling her cloak. 

“Water, please” she told a servant who made to pour her wine. 

“You do not drink, Your Grace?” he asked. 

“No, never” she replied simply and he gave a nod, returning to watching her, though covertly. Her hair was the brightest red he had ever seen, standing out against her dark clothing and porcelain skin. He could see why rumors of her beauty flew through the realms. Were he a lesser man he would be distracted by such beauty and miss the determined, proud cut of her jaw. “Lord Bolton” she said unexpectedly and he met her gaze. “Allow me to express my condolences on the loss of your sons, Lord Domeric and Ramsay Snow.”

“Thank you, Your Grace,” he replied. 

“While I have not lost children, I know what losing family is like and I am sorry” she said, sincerity heavy in her voice. 

“The North has lost too much at the hands of Southron Lords” he said, crossing to pick up the water cups, handing her one and keeping one himself. 

“Perhaps one day you will remarry and father more children” she said with a soft smile. 

“Should my Queen wish it” he replied. 

“I will need you close, for perhaps the next year,” she explained, pausing at his frown. “Is that not acceptable?”

“It is not that, Your Grace,” he said. “I would have assumed that Lord Royce would be your advisor.”

“Lord Royce has obligations in the Vale that cannot be ignored forever,” she explained. “My cousin has need of him and I have need of a loyal man in the North, one who would be my Hand” she said pointedly.

“You do me a great honor” he watched her closely. 

“You have proven your loyalty, even when my brother could not see past his own stubborn ways,” she said. “What was he thinking? Marrying her?”

“I cannot say, Your Grace,” he replied. “I long ago gave up trying to understand his reasoning.”

At this she smiled, her full lips curving in a delightful way, “Indeed. You and I both, Lord Bolton” she shook her head. “Old Gods save us from men who think only with their cocks.”

“Well said” he agreed, though was amused to hear such from the lips of his Queen.

“Will you stay?” she asked. “In Winterfell, as my Hand? I fear that once Tywin finds his hold in the North has slipped, we will have war on the horizon. I will need you.”

It had been a very long time since a woman said that she needed him, he mused to himself. And never was it one this beautiful. In truth, he had expected to be dismissed as soon as she arrived, had been ready to return to the Dreadfort and await news of a suitable bride. He found this much preferable. 

“I will stay, Your Grace,” he told her. “House Bolton remains loyal to House Stark.”

“House Stark will keep Lord Bolton well and in high regard. All of the North will know of your loyalty” she promised. “And should the Kingslayer show his face here, I will let you have your way with him. You’re fond of leeches, I hear, perhaps they will be of use.” 

At this, he smiled, “I will hold you to that, Your Grace.”

“I expect nothing less, Lord Bolton.”

Sansa sat by the fire in the master’s chambers, grateful to be home in Winterfell. Trusting Lord Bolton had been a risk, but he had come through for her and the North, taking back the heart of the North and uniting them once more under Northern rule. No more Southron Lords, she promised, no more. 

As a girl she would have been horrified by the Bolton methods, by the violence attached to their name, but now she was a woman who had seen the horrors of the world and she knew that violent men were her only hope to return home. 

She had not been wrong in trusting him. 

He was not what she expected, Lord Roose Bolton. She had expected a man akin to Joffrey, with an unsettling madness in his eyes, but Lord Bolton was calm, stoic and rather...charming. He was handsome, tall but with a broad, powerful frame and piercing grey-blue eyes. His greying beard was well kept and made him look distinguished. His appearance was not what she had expected but it was most welcome. 

She shifted on the furs and felt the scars on her back pull, a lovely memory of her time in King’s Landing that she would not escape. Under Joffrey and Cersei, Sansa had learned about cruelty and madness, had learned that the only one who could save her was herself. Aside from the Hound, the only one to show her any sort of mercy was the Great Lion himself. While it was not overt kindness, his soft words and expressions soothed her when all else was lost. 

It hadn’t been enough, however, and when she saw the chance to run, she ran. Lord Royce had taken her in and helped her to set in motion that which would bring her home. 

‘Queen in the North’ she’d heard them say. ‘Queen of Ice’, ‘Queen of Winter’, she would have to be all these things to survive the coming war. The North would not bow to a Southron king or queen, they would be free of their schemes and deceit, that was her solemn vow. 

With a sigh, she lay on the furs, pulling a blanket over herself and watching the flames dance until slumber took her. 

Morning found her in the hall, eating a small breakfast as she reviews the ledgers and a stack of ravens. Lord Bolton had done a good job of keeping things straight and organized, another reason she was grateful he decided to stay on as her hand. 

“Good morning, Your Grace” Lord Bolton’s deep voice pulled her from her focus and she looked up in greeting. 

“Lord Bolton” she replied. “Good morning. I took the liberty of getting an early start.” 

“I see that” he sat across from her taking some of the food from the tray for himself. 

“You are a very meticulous man,” she noted, looking through his notes. 

“I am nothing if not thorough” he replied. 

“Are you meticulous in all areas or just in ledgers?” she asked. 

“All areas require dedication, Your Grace,” he stated. 

“Indeed” she paused, pulling the silver pin from her pocket. She had had it made in the Vale, in Northern silver and specifically for Lord Bolton, should he choose to remain at her side. “For my Lord Hand” she placed it on the table between them, noticing the surprise in his eyes. 

It was not a standard pin, not like you’d see in the South, but was a snarling direwolf, a single ruby in his eye, at the center of saltire, the Saint’s Cross found on the Bolton sigil. It was to signify both houses, his and hers, and their joint effort to restore the North. 

“Your Grace” he picked it up, smoothing a thumb over the metalwork. 

“For your loyalty, Lord Bolton” she told him. “I will see your house remembered for its greatness, and as my Hand you will be revered, respected, as we unite this new North.” 

Without a word he affixed the pin to his chest, ensuring it was straight before he continued to break his fast. He was not a man of many words, nor was she a woman that cared to make small talk. They ate and worked in companionable silence, garnering several looks as men and servants passed through the Hall. 

“Lord Bolton” she extended a scroll to him, which he took, scanning the contents with a discerning eye. 

“I will handle this, Your Grace,” he told her, setting it on his pile of work. 

“Do you think,” she began. “In situations such as this, while we work, you could call me Sansa?”

“You are the Queen, Your Grace,” he said. 

“I am Sansa Stark, Lord Bolton” she said. “It is alright--”

“Lady Sansa, then” he suggested. 

“Thank you” she replied, returning to her work. 

Sometime later she felt restless and carefully stood, stretching sore muscles as she moved beside the fire. 

“Are you well, Lady Sansa?”

“I believe I shall go for a walk,” she nodded. “Fresh air should help to clear the cobwebs in my mind.” 

“Very well” he said. 

“Would you care to join me?” she found herself asking him. 

“Thank you, I would” he stood, similarly stretching and offering her his arm as they made their way to the parapets. 

If there was anything more terrifying to the smallfolk than Lord Roose Bolton, the man who felt so little, it was the sight of him at the side of the Queen of Winter, both faces impassive. While Queen Sansa Stark was beautiful, she was also in possession of a sharp mind and a gift for politics.

Every afternoon Queen Sansa and Lord Bolton would walk the parapets of Winterfell, pausing to watch the men train in the yard or to smiled at a group of children playing in the snow. The smallfolk had come to expect it and often greeted them or waved as they passed by. 

Twice a week she would hear grievances, taking audience in the Great Hall and listening to any who came to speak. She would hand down fair and reasonable solutions, occasionally consulting with her hand, the man who had sacrificed his sons to reunite the North. 

Queen Sansa was not afraid of violence or judgement, but they were never her first choice. Or second for that matter. Should punishment be necessary, she would stand as Lord Bolton swung the sword, his strength doling out the sentence in her honor. Her eyes would never flinch or falter, watching each punishment so that she may remember it. 

They were a terrifying pair, truly just and honorable. A force to be reckoned with that the North rallied behind at every step.

Several moons into her reign, a small group of Lannister men were captured on the edges of The Neck, scouting the area for their Lord. When they were brought into the Great Hall, Sansa stood, facing them with a cold glare.

“Lannister men, Your Grace” Roose frowned. 

“Little Lions, so far from home” Sansa looked down at them, grimacing at their red armor and the golden lions on their chest. “Have they said anything?” she asked the guard. 

“No, Your Grace” he replied. 

“Lord Bolton,” she said without looking at him. “What is it your family says?”

“A naked man has few secrets, a flayed man, none, Your Grace,” he replied. At this, the men paled, one even whimpered as he knelt on the stone floor.

“My father outlawed flaying in the North, but I would likely make an exception when our enemies flaunt such blatant acts of war” she glared down at the men. “What have you told Lord Tywin?” she asked them and the one who whimpered spoke up. 

“We’re just supposed to watch you” he said. 

“Watch me?” she frowned.

“He said you’re important,” the man continued despite being elbowed by the man next to him. “You’re a Lannister---”

“I am a Stark” she cut him off. “My farse of a marriage to Lord Tyrion was invalid and therefore annulled. I am Lady Sansa Stark, Queen in the North” she said plainly. “You” she said to the whimpering one, “You’re going to take a letter back to Lord Tywin for me” she instructed. “Lord Bolton, the other two are yours” she finally looked to her Hand and gave a nod, his eyes dark.

Sansa wrote her letter quickly, giving it to the whimpering man before sending him on his way. He ran quickly from the Great Hall and to his horse, disappearing on the horizon with haste. 

“Are we to be overrun with lions?” she asked Roose that night as they shared the evening meal. 

“Tywin Lannister will not easily part with any hold he may think he has on the North” he replied evenly between bites of food. 

“He will try to turn your head” she reasoned. “I am sure by now he knows that you are my hand and the one I am closest to.”

“Let him try” Roose said, eyes glittering with mischief. “Perhaps then I can persuade my Queen to lift the law against flaying.”

“Some men deserved to be cut apart” she frowned. “To be shown that the insides they hold so dearly are just as yellow as the outside.”

They lapsed into silence and she was glad that Roose did not ask about her cryptic words, as she did not care to explain them. At least, not tonight. 

Sansa stood beside the fire in her private office attached to her rooms, trying to stem the rising ache in her head. She frowned into the flames. Enemies to the South, enemies across the Narrow Sea and if Jon was to be believed, enemies in the far North. 

Glancing to the letters on her desk she grimaced once more. Each one was an offer of marriage, an alliance of some sort to a Southron Lord or a lesser house that wanted a foothold in the North. None of them were even remotely tempting. 

She knew as well as any ruler did, that providing an heir for your throne ensured that peace lasted beyond your own lifetime. The only problem was she needed a husband for these heirs and she trusted no men. 

A knock came at the door and she looked up to see Lord Bolton enter. 

Correction, she trusted one man. 

“Are you well, Your Grace?” he asked. She motioned to the stack of letters on her desk and he moved toward it, glancing through them. “Are these all proposals?” 

“Yes” she nodded, rubbing her temples. 

“I can see why you have a headache,” he chuckled dryly. “Are you going to chose one?” 

“Not from that stack” she told him. “The North deserves better than Southron second and third sons. It deserves a legacy of strong Northern blood.”

He gave a nod, “Though the options are limited, there are many houses to choose from, all would be honored to have a son as king-consort.”

“All?” she watched him. 

“I do not understand” he moved beside her before the fire. 

“May I speak plainly?” she asked. 

“Of course.” 

“I do not trust any of those men, with the North,” she explained. “Some would see me dead and others would try to rule behind my back. I would not trust it to the Tyrells or any Lannister bannermen. I do not trust it to Northern men who would seek to exert their will over another.”

“Then you have eliminated the whole of men from the realm, Lady Sansa” he said with amusement. 

“All but one” she met his eyes and finally he caught her meaning. His grey-blue eyes went wide, then schooled themselves, watching her closely. “You have proven yourself loyal, Lord Bolton---Roose, and your house is old and true” she gave a small laugh. “And should you wish me dead I am fairly certain I will see the blade coming.”

“If you’re implying that I would not stab you in the back, you are correct, I would do no such thing,” he told her. 

“You need a son and heir to the Dreadfort,” she paused. “I need a son and heir to the Northern throne. I would hope it would not be an imposition to ask you to bear my attentions---”

“Lady Sansa” he protested. 

“Marry me, Roose” she asked. “Let us give each other sons.”

“Lady Sansa, you should think this through” he reasoned. “The surest way to an alliance is marriage, this one is important and should not be wasted.”

“In which path is it not the right choice?” she asked. “I marry Lord Willas Tyrell, he comes North and I die in child bed. Now my people are in the hands of a Southron Lord. I marry Tywin Lannister, same result, though he’ll likely kill me for the throne. I marry Lord Umber, then the other Northern Lords see it as if I have picked a favorite. Same with Lord Manderly’s heir.”

“And you believe they will not think as such if you were to marry me?” he prompted. 

“You marched from the Dreadfort to save Winterfell from the Lannisters” she explained. “In doing such, you lost both of your sons, legitimate or not. You sacrificed deeply for my claim, I would repay that loss with children of my own body.”

“You must be certain, Lady Sansa” he spoke softly. 

“If you do not wish to wed, then the matter is settled and I will not speak of it again” she gave a nod and moved back. 

Roose caught her as she moved back, his hand slipping around her minuscule waist to guide her closer. She wore no cloak, the warmth in her room enough to keep her comfortable, and the black and grey dress she wore clung to her upper body like a lover. 

A hand splayed across her back, holding her firmly, and the other traveled up her arm, and over her shoulder to her neck and jaw. She was a beauty the likes of which he had never seen, in all his years. A Queen, a noble woman of old blood, and a woman asking him for sons. How could he refuse such a request? He couldn’t, not when it meant she would belong to him and only him. 

He’d always been a cold, aloof man; even as a child he had not been a slave to emotions that seems to control others. But the moment she rode through those gates she had awoken a possessive streak in his chest that cut to the core of him. He was honored to serve as her hand, to wear the pin that she had artfully designed for him with their house sigils. To belong to her in some small way.

Sansa was a good Queen, a ruler who listened but took action if it was needed, and never before. A patient, steady hand that would rebuild the North. She was not one to bear liars or manipulators, her mind seemed to work faster and above those who tried to use her as a pawn. She was so unlike her proud, stubborn brother, they were night and day and in her service he felt more valuable than he had to Robb or Ned.

“Sansa” he said quietly, searching her Tully-blue eyes for any sign of hesitancy. He found none, only the usual determination and spark of fire. 

“I’m not asking for undying love,” she said, her hands taking hold of the sides of his doublet, framing the flayed man on his breastplate. “I am asking for loyalty, to myself and any children we have.” 

“You already have my loyalty,” he assured her. “I’ll marry you, Sansa, and it would be my pleasure to give you sons.” 

“Roose” she said softly, glancing to his lips and he read her invitation easily, leaning forward to take her lips. It was tentative, unsure, but not lacking in passion as her lips responded to his. He held her tightly, her height nearly a match for his so kissing her was as easy as breathing. 

He could have kissed her for hours, tasting deeply of her warm mouth, but when one of her hands slid into his outer doublet, settling over his ribs he drew back. Their lips parted but he did not let her go. 

“The next full moon is in a fortnight” he said softly. “I would marry you in the Godswood beneath it.” 

She gave a small nod, her fingers flexing where they rest over his ribs, “That would be perfect,” she said. “You should know...Lord Tyrion never touched me, in any way,” she added. 

“I will take care of you, my Queen” he assured her. “On our wedding night and every night after.” 

“Thank you” she smiled then, looking younger than he had seen her and even more beautiful. Soon she would be his wife as well as his Queen, and he found he was looking forward to claiming her. 

They wed as planned, beneath the Godswood by the light of the full moon. If any of the Northern Lords were shocked at the announcement, they did not show it. Perhaps the closeness of the Queen and her Hand had already lent itself to an agreement of marriage. 

Sansa wore a gown of soft dove grey, the bright red of Weirwood leaves embroidered along one side, and her maiden’s cloak with a proud direwolf along the back. Roose had asked that she wore her hair loose, in the Northern style and so only the front was held back with a braid at each temple. Atop her head a sat the Crown of the North, the silver swords reaching for the sky from her fiery hair. 

They spoke the words together and then they were wed, Roose’s lips claimed hers in a soft kiss as those around them began their celebrations. As they others moved to the Great Hall where a feast awaited, Sansa held her husband back, waiting until they were alone in the Godswood. 

“Sansa?” he asked. 

“I do not want a bedding,” she told him. “I won’t be touched---”

“Then I will not allow it” he assured her, smoothing a thumb across her cheek. “You are mine and mine alone.” 

“Promise me, Roose” she asked him, the only fear she felt for their wedding night was the fear of being pawed at by strangers and Lords. 

“You have my word” he moved closer, pulling her into his embrace. “You’re trembling…”

“Memories of a life nearly forgotten” she whispered, allowing him to see her vulnerability. He was her husband now, this meant that they were allies, in this together. “Not all men are as skilled with a blade as you are,” she told him. 

“They hurt you, in the capitol” he deduced. 

“Tortured, would be a better word,” she replied. “I have survived battles of my own.”

“A true warrior queen” he released her and she felt the warmth of his lips on her forehead. “Come, let us celebrate our wedding before we sneak away.” 

She nodded, “Thank you” she took his arm and followed him into the Great Hall. 

The noise and revelry was overwhelming when they entered, Bolton and Stark men alike already on their way to drunk, occasionally yelling out ‘For the King and Queen’ as they toasted. Some, the crude crowd, made jokes about the Queen taking Lord Bolton to stud, praising his breeding stock. Sansa laughed at this, seeing Roose’s exasperation, but hid it with her water glass. She was glad her husband did not drink, choosing instead to be aware and in control at all times. 

By the time they ate their meal of beef stew and fresh bread, the men were completely drunk. This meant it was easy to sneak away. Roose leaned over to her, his deep voice whispering in her ear. 

“You go first” he told her. “I will follow in a few minutes.”

“Alright” she replied with a nervous smile. She stood and wove her way through the raucous crowd, pausing to greet several people and then she slipped away, up the back staircase and into the master’s chambers. 

A maid had already lit a fire and a tray with water and fruit sat on the side table. She set about removing her grey dress, ignoring the tremble in her hand as she folded the fabric neatly and wrapped it in linen before placing it in her hope chest. She removed her stays and shift, pulling on her robe to wait for her husband. 

Husband, she sat in the chair before the fire, absently unpinning her hair as she thought. She was married now, Lady Bolton in any other world, but now he was her king-consort. It was callous, perhaps, of her to use him for his seed. But men had been doing such for centuries, marrying women for their ability to give them heirs, why should she be any different?

The sound of the door latch reached her ears and she set her hair pins aside as she faced her husband. He had discarded his cloak, but was fully dressed otherwise, his broad form encased in his usual doublet and breastplate. 

“I managed to escape without much injury, though I fear for my cloak” he said, barring the door as facing her. Carefully, she stood, his grey eyes raking over her robe with undisguised desire. She had never had a man look upon her in such a state of undress, and she felt her cheeks heat in response. 

“Roose” she greeted him softly. “Husband.”

“You look lovely” he said gruffly, moving closer. His hand reached out for her hair, pausing before it wove into the fiery length. 

“Shall I…” she raised her hands to his belt, unbuckling it to set his blades aside before moving to the laces of his doublet. She felt his hand move from her hair to her chin and she looked up in time to see his lips descend towards hers. 

He kissed her, gently at first but soon with insistence that had his arm banding around her. It was like the kiss they shared before, only darker and filled with promise. His hand used its grip on her hair to tilt her head, deepening the kiss until his tongue seemed to dominate her every sense. 

She could feel his kiss echo through her, heat building and settling at her core until she was doing her best to hold back her whimpers. 

“Do not hold back” he instructed her, his words whispered against her mouth. “Beyond this room you can be the Queen of Ice, but here” his arm flexed around her waist. “Here you do not have to hide. Never hide from me.” 

“We could make our room a haven--an escape” she said softly, her hands flexing against his doublet as she leaned forward to kiss him once more. She finished the ties of his doublet, parting the leather to feel the linen tunic underneath. 

Her husband was strong, built of solid muscle, his frame honed by war. As her hands smoothed across the planes of his chest, he moved back enough to discard his doublet and tunic. He stood before her in his boots and pants, looking every inch the Warrior himself, and when he pulled her back into his arms, she felt the warmth of his body seep into hers. 

“Come” Roose guided his bride to the bed, laying her across the thick furs. Her hair spread around her like a wave of fire, bright against the dark furs. He removed his boots and pants but left his smallclothes, the thin fabric doing little to hide his arousal. Unable to wait, he untied the sash of her dressing gown, parting the fabric to reveal her body to him. She was perfection, all porcelain skin and smooth curves. 

As his eyes raked over her he paused at the edge of a scar on her left hip. Frowning he reached out to touch it, the angry mark having been left by a clumsy hand with a dull blade. 

“Joffrey liked to have me beaten” she whispered, averting her eyes. “In front of the court his men would use whatever weapon they could. There are scars…they’re ugly.”

“You are beautiful” he gently turned her face back to his, reclaiming her lips. Later he would worry about how they were going to kill every last man, Lannister or not, that hurt her. For now, he was going to claim his bride.

He felt her relax beneath him, their deep, sinful kisses having her whimpering as she tentatively ran her hands over his bare chest. He would be a liar if he denied that he had wanted her from the moment she rode through the gates of Winterfell. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, intelligent, proud and she was _his_. 

He was a man who was always in control, cold and calculating, but with her naked beneath him, whimpering into his mouth, he felt decidedly out of control. The urge to simply take her, bury himself inside of her until he could slake the burning need he suddenly felt, was great. But she was a Queen, a Lady and a Bolton, and she was worth more than simply fucking into her until he was satisfied.

She gasped against his mouth as he cupped a breast, stroking the peak until it begged for his attention. 

“Roose” she panted as he broke their kiss, moving to suckle her breast, nibbling and rolling her nipple until she mewled in pleasure. Only when she was pliant and flushed did his hand find its way between her legs. 

He nearly groaned as he realized she was already wet for him, her body weeping for his. Parting her folds he teased her as he worshipped her breasts, delighting in the sweet torture he could give to his wife. Released her breast from his mouth he watched her writhe against him, breath catching and then her cry filled the room as she came on his hand. 

Moving quickly he untied his smallclothes and freed his cock, coating it in her moisture on his fingers before settling between her legs.

“Hold on to my shoulders” he instructed and she wrapped her arms around him as he braced himself on his elbow. He guided himself to her opening, running the head along her slit before delving inside. 

He moved slowly, but confidently, feeling her barrier bend and then break as he slid fully inside of her. She whimpered in pain at the same moment he groaned in pleasure, her tight, hot sheath felt so damned good around him he knew this wasn’t going to last long. 

“I can feel you,” she mused, her fingers relaxing on his shoulders.

“Wrap your legs around me,” he softly kissed her as she moved and when she was ready he rocked his hips. 

“Oh,” she sighed, clinging to him as he set a slow pace, sliding in and out of her body. “Would you..would you kiss me?” she whispered and he granted her request, kissing her deeply as he moved. 

Roose felt his hold on his control fray and break, pleasure consuming him, centered on where their bodies were connected. He’d fucked many women in his lifetime but none had brought him so close to coming undone. His hips sped, the wet sound of their coupling fueling his desire. Sansa whimpered and gasped against his mouth and those small noises were enough to drag him over the edge. 

Sliding deep he came with a growl, parting their lips as he gasped for air. He ran a hand over the smooth skin of her thigh, holding himself within her while his hot seed coating her inner walls. 

The soft touch of fingers on his face had him opening his eyes, not realizing they had closed as he came. Sansa was looking up at him, lips swollen and red, cheeks flushed, looking every inch a goddess that had seduced away his control. Her fingers were trailing over his brow and then the bridge of his nose. As they reached his mouth, impulsively he turned to kiss the tips of her fingers and she smiled brightly. 

“My husband” she cupped his cheek. “My King.”

“I suppose I am” he reasoned, holding himself above her even as his body slipped from hers. Her legs were still around him, but he did not mind. He would live here, in the cradle of her body, if he could.

“Stay,” she asked him. “Share these rooms, this bed. I do not want a cold marriage, Roose.”

“Most would tell you that I am a cold man,” he replied. “Incapable of warmth.”

“And yet I can feel your warmth well enough. Beyond these walls you can be the King of Ice” she echoed his earlier words to her. “Here we can burn together.”

He gave a curt nod, feeling oddly exposed, “I’ll stay” he promised, feeling the weight of the words, that were heavier than his marriage vows, settle in his chest.

“A raven just arrived, Your Grace” Sansa looked up as the guard extended the scroll to her and she took it with a nod of thanks as he vanished back into the hall. Turning it she saw the seal and felt her stomach drop. 

“Roose” she said and he stood from his chair and moved beside her, eyes turning cold as he looked at the roaring lion in the red wax. He stayed at her side as she broke the seal and unrolled the parchment. 

_ Lady Bolton, I offer congratulations on the event of your marriage to Lord Bolton. I am disappointed that you have chosen so far beneath you, as you were destined for much greater men._

_As Lord Hand to King Joffrey, the rightful king of the seven kingdoms, I write to inform you that your secession from the realms will not be tolerated. You have a moon’s turn to set aside your false title of ‘Queen’, or it will be considered an act of war. -T. Lannister._

Sansa set the scroll on the desk and stood, pacing to the window where she watched the snow fall. “It is to be war then” she said, resting her forehead against the glass. 

“Did he intend to marry you?” Roose asked. 

“It is possible” she frowned, looking back to her husband. “It would have been the easiest way for him to take the North he wanted so badly. Why do you ask?” 

“If he is clouded by petty jealousy, it could tip his hand” he replied. “I will reply to him, as your Hand, and bait him.”

She smiled, “You intend to toy with the Great Lion?”

“It is all a game” he moved to her side by the window. “All men are pawns. Lion or otherwise.”

“Then allow me this small gift of information” she took his hand in both of hers, raising it to kiss his knuckles beside his signet ring. “Cersei’s children are not Baratheons. Joffrey, Tommen and Myrcella, all of them are the children of Ser Jaime Lannister, not Robert Baratheon.”

“Bastards of incest” he nearly smiled. 

“Such information has cost Jon Arryn and my father their lives” she said. “Stannis Baratheon is the rightful king, his claim is valid.”

“Then perhaps my first letter should be to him” Roose leaned forward, placing a lingering kiss on her forehead. 

Sansa smiled at the private showing of affection. Her husband was far from cold, she had learned in the moons since they had married. 

In the privacy of their chambers or in this office he was warm, affectionate and caring. Their marriage bed was always warm, filled with surprising passion and lust that she had not expected. At his hand she learned about pleasure and he encouraged her to take it from his body as he did hers. 

He moved away from the window, returning to his seat at the table and the letters he now needed to write. She watched him for a moment and then, smiling to herself, she moved from the window. 

“But first, My King” she purred, guiding his chair back. Lifting her skirt she moved astride his lap and settled onto his thighs. “I have need of you.”

“I live to serve, My Queen” his hands slid up her stockings and to the bare skin of her thighs above them. She wore no small clothes, an increasingly common occurrence that allowed her husband to take her as they pleased. Roose, as it turned out, had quite the admiration for her legs and enjoyed being able to stroke them without the hindrance of small clothes. 

Placing her hands on the warm skin of his neck she kissed him. His lips parted and she tasted deeply of him as his fingers found their way to her core. He rubbed and teased her, his knowledge of her body near expert, and she was soaked within moments. 

His hands moved away, untying his breeches quickly to free his cock. Stroking the thick length he aligned himself with her channel as she rose over him and slid onto him with a slow, downward thrust. 

As she always did with him inside of her, she felt deliciously stretched, full and whole. They shared languid, wet kisses as she rode him, bracing her boots on the lower frame of the chair to move. His hand smoothed over her legs and then filled themselves with her ass, helping her to set the pace. 

She took her pleasure, using her husband in the best possible way and when it crested she held him tight, crying out against his mouth. He groaned as her body milked his, begging for his seed. She felt him stiffen beneath her and then tremor as he came, spending himself deep within her body. 

“Now” she kissed his lax mouth with a smile. “You may write your letters.” 

“As my Queen commands” he smirked. 

Nearly a moon’s turn later, Sansa found herself in the courtyard at her husband's side as they watched Lord Stannis Baratheon ride through the gates of Winterfell. 

Tall, imposing and impossibly dour, he had been quite interested in the North’s support of his claim to the Iron Throne, and so he journeyed from Dragonstone to meet them. His wife and daughter were not with him, but his man Ser Davos Seaworth rode at his side in front of the vanguard. 

He dismounted and Roose moved forward to shake his hand, “Welcome to Winterfell, Lord Stannis.”

“Lord Bolton” Stannis replied, then looked to her. She felt his cold gaze assess her as she raised her hand. “I find that I do not know how to address you,” he admitted. 

“We are both in the same mind” she replied with a smile. “Please call me Lady Sansa or Lady Bolton, and I will call you Lord Stannis.”

“Lady Bolton” he took her hand and bowed briefly before releasing it. 

“Come, I am sure you are famished from your journey” she took her husband’s arm and escorted the two men inside, leaving the Baratheon vanguard in the courtyard. 

They took up residence at the large table before the fire in the Great Hall, a servant soon bringing a tray of food and fresh water. Sansa spoke briefly with the servant, who gave a nod and darted away, before she sat beside her husband. 

“How was your journey, Lord Stannis? Uneventful, I hope” she asked 

“Indeed, long but I believe it is our best interests to speak face to face on a matter of such importance” Stannis said, his voice clipped and to the point. 

“We agree” she nodded. “Tywin Lannister has his claws deep into the Iron Throne and will do whatever it takes to keep it.”

“Him and his incestuous family are quite the thorn in my side” Stannis stated. 

“I will be forward with you, Lord Stannis” Sansa spoke plainly as the servant returned with a small cup of tea for her. “Thank you” she gave a nod and returned to Stannis, “We are prepared to support your claim for the Iron Throne, even help you to rid the world of the Lannister usurpers, but you cannot have the North. We will remain an independent kingdom, as we were for thousands of years.”

He watched her closely, his gaze cutting through her before he spoke, “You keep saying ‘we’,” he glanced to Roose. “You truly rule at her side, then?”

“I serve as my Queen wishes” Roose replied. 

“I consider my husband my King, Lord Stannis “ Sansa said. “I will bend the knee to no other King but him.” At this, she felt Roose’s eyes swing briefly to her but she didn’t meet his gaze, she sipped her tea, hoping it would settle her stomach. It would be poor form to throw up on invited guests. 

“You are rather blunt,” Stannis said dryly. “You do not mince words, I find that refreshing.” 

“I used to spin flowery words, pretty tales and lies, but they did not serve me well in King’s Landing” she replied. “I will not waste our time with them now. With the resources of the North and The Vale, you would easily be able to take the Iron Throne, should dragons not arrive there first.” 

“And if they do?” Stannis prompted. 

“Then we kill them, too.”

“I fully expect you to be riding into battle with us” Stannis gave an odd sort of chortle. 

“That will not be possible, I am afraid,” she explained. “But if I could, I would.”

He glanced to her tea and then back to her, “My congratulations.”

“Thank you” she smiled then, looking to her husband who was piecing together their unspoken words. His grey-blue eyes held hers, thoughts passing between them in the brief silence. Roose gave a small smile and a nod, pride evident in his shoulders. She turned back to Stannis, “I shall give you time, to discuss the matter and come to a decision. In the meantime, we’ve planned a large meal tonight in your honor. I will show you to your rooms where you can rest until then, if that is acceptable.” 

“Thank you, Lady Bolton” Stannis replied. 

The moment the men were safely in their rooms, Roose took Sansa’s elbow and led her quickly up the hall. 

“Roose? Roose--” she asked, hurrying to keep up with him. Rounding the corner he shoved open the door to their rooms, pausing only to slam the door behind him before he was on her. She didn’t resist and her shock faded quickly, melting into his violent kiss as his hands worked at her skirts. 

He needed her, to possess her, to be inside of her, to fuck her and show her that she was his Queen every bit that he was her King. He had been hard for her the moment she told Lord Stannis that she would never bend the knee to another, the fact that she carried his child had only made the situation worse. 

Never in his life had anyone defended him so readily, or cared for him enough to speak up for him. He was not a man familiar with affection but for her he was making a concerted effort to show her that he did care. 

Her hands were at his breeches, working the laces frantically, then delving inside to stroke him. He growled, guiding her backwards and then turning her to face her vanity. He placed her hands on the tabletop, their eyes meeting in the mirror as he pulled her skirts up, baring her ass. 

“Mine” he slid his fingers into her folds, smirking at how wet she already was. His hand slid to her stomach. “Mine” he held her eyes in the mirror, watching as she bit her lower lip in anticipation. With deft movements he aligned himself to her body and sank home. 

“Fuck” she gasped as he plunged inside her, her fingers curling on the vanity’s top. His body curled over hers, holding her pinned as he fucked her. It was far from the gentle coupling they’d shared that morning, but no less reverent. Fucking Sansa was a religious act, he’d decided long ago, each thrust a worship of her, a prayer, a hymn that spoke of bone-deep devotion. 

One hand over hers on the vanity, the other curled around her throat and jaw, holding her gently as he rutted into her, over and over. She belonged to him and him alone. Stannis Baratheon could not have her. Tywin Lannister could not have her. She was _his_ wife and it was his seed in her womb. 

“Roose---fuck” she screamed the obscenity as she came, fluids soaking his cock and breeches as she seized violently in climax. 

“Mine” he fucked her hard enough to shake the vanity, slamming his hips against her ass until he came hard enough to see spots, filling her until their juices soaked them both. He nuzzled his face into her hair, the hand at her throat moving to her stomach, cupping it gently. "Mine."

Her hand covered his and he looked at her reflection to see the contented smile on her face, “Mine” she said softly. 

“When?” he asked simply, flexing his hand over her womb. 

“Likely five or six more moons” she smiled. 

“And you are well?” he asked. 

“Of course” she promised. 

He nodded then and stood tall. His body slipped from hers and primal satisfaction had him grinning as he watched their fluids as they trailed down her inner thigh. _Mine._

In the end, Lord Stannis Baratheon had accepted their offer of fealty and together their armies had marched south to take King’s Landing. Daenerys would be dealt with if necessary, but so far she remained in Essos, burning cities to the ground and leaving death in her wake. 

The Army of the North, along with those of Stannis and The Vale, had easily taken the city from the Lannisters. Roose had written to her from the Red Keep, telling her of Stannis’ victory in reclaiming the Iron Throne and Roose’s personal victory over Lord Tywin and the Kingslayer. He had written that he would soon return North with the army, anxious to be back with her. 

Sansa stood on the parapets, as she did every afternoon, waiting for some sign of her husband’s return. She had waited as patiently as possible, for many moons, rabidly reading and rereading every raven he sent her. She missed him terribly, his strong presence and his deep voice. She missed his touch, his kisses more than anything. 

She hadn’t expected to love her husband, and certainly not this deeply. The babe, perhaps, made her sentimental. Smiling, she smoothed a hand over her very large stomach. Any day now their child would arrive, and she could not wait to meet them. A son, she hoped, with his father’s look and sharp mind. 

A chill hung in the air and she pulled her cloak tighter around her. Reluctantly she turned from the horizon and returned to her chambers and the warmth of the fire. 

It was nearly dark when Roose finally rode through the gates of Winterfell. He had been away nearly six moons and he was more than glad to be home. He found himself looking around the courtyard for Sansa, frowning when he could not find her. 

He had missed her deeply, though he was careful not to show it and would never admit it. He missed sleeping beside her, watching her sleep in the early morning light and making slow, passionate love to her---or simply fucking her whenever they had need of each other. 

Some days it was hard to believe that he had married Sansa Stark, the beauty of the North and she had elevated him far above his station, making him her King. He had now also unmae a king and made another, his penchant for violence serving him well at war in the South. 

“Your Grace!” a voice called to him and he saw a maid coming towards him. “Come!” she beckoned him and he dismounted, following the girl into the keep. 

They were moving quickly and his heart began to race as he recognized the path to the master’s chambers. As they reached the top of the stairs, screaming reached his ears and then he was running, passing the maid and moving into the room without pause. 

Sansa was sitting on the wooden stool, sobbing as she tried to catch her breath. A midwife was kneeling before her, coaxing her with soft words. 

“Your Grace--” a maid near the fire sought to scold him and he fixed her with a glare. 

“Bugger off” he unbuckled his cloak and moved to his wife’s side. 

“Roose” Sansa sobbed, turning to kiss him. “You’re home.”

He cupped her cheek. “Just in time, I see” he continued but she didn’t reply, pain wracking her body once more and she screamed out as the midwife told her to push. Her hand shot out, finding his own and he stayed at her side, watching as their firstborn son came into the world. 

“A fine boy” the midwife quickly cleaned his mouth and then his wails were filling the room. The others worked to clean him and wrap him in a soft blanket. 

Sansa was sobbing in relief and joy, “A son” she cried, kissing his knuckles.

Roose bent down then, kissing her softly, “A son.” 

“I am so happy you’re home,” she smiled. “I am never letting you leave again.”

“I am not going anywhere” he promised. Once the babe’s blanket was born, he helped Sansa to stand and once she was cleaned up he all but carried her to the bed. The maid carried over their son, placing him in Sansa’s arms and Roose sat on the bed beside her. They were both so absorbed in examining him they barely registered the others leaving, closing the door behind them. 

“He looks just like you” Sansa whispered, stroking the babes cheek. He certainly did, Roose had to admit. His eyes were a bright blue, with a hint of grey and his hair was dark brown with a hint of red. 

“I should like him to be named Royce” Roose said. “Royce Bolton, fifth of his name and the future King of the North.”

“Royce Eddard, then” Sansa smiled. “It suits him.” 

Roose watched as the babe started to root, seeking her breast and Sansa carefully untied her shift, moving it off her shoulder. Her breasts had grown with pregnancy and he could hardly wait to get his hands on them. Soon, he told himself, once she was recovered. He watched as their son latched on to her nipple, cries going silent as he contently suckled. 

“He is here because of you, Roose Bolton” Sansa looked up at him. “You gave me back my home, you have given me a family.” 

“House Bolton will always stand with House Stark, my Queen” he took her hand. “Always.”

“We are one house now” she replied. “King and Queen of Ice.” Roose raised their joined hands to kiss hers, turning it to kiss the palm. “I realized while you were away, that I love you, my King.”

His heart clenched at her words and he pressed her palm to his cheek, sinking into the warmth of her touch, “I missed you” he said quietly. “I used to live for the violence, but it brought me little joy these past moons. I did my duty so that I may return home, to you.”

Her smile was luminous, bright Tully-blue eyes filled with tears, “I missed you too. Something terrible” she laughed softly, aware of the bundle on her arm. 

He moved to kiss her forehead, lingering there for a moment, indulging himself in her floral scent before moving back, “I love you” he held her against his side, both of them watching their son as he lapsed into slumber at her breast. 

Roose Bolton, King in the North and one of the most feared, violent men in the realm, stared across the battlefield with disgust. There was no honor in this, he sneered, in the burning of men, women and children alive. There was no honor in butchering innocent people. 

He’d been known to rend flesh from bone, but never on a woman or child, and never on a man who hadn't truly earned it. This, this was savagery at its worst. 

And at the heart of it all, his eyes moved back to the blonde woman standing before them in chains, a small, spiteful little bitch who sought to play war with men far more seasoned than herself. 

“Lady Targaryen---” Stannis Baratheon spoke from beside Roose. 

“My name is--”

“Save us the speech” Roose spoke calmly, interrupting her rant. He’d already heard it thrice today and he would fairly puke if he had to hear it again.

They’d been at war with her for months now, and he was ready to end it and return home to his family. When Daenerys landed in Dragonstone, Stannis had sent a raven to Winterfell, asking for the North to stand with the Southron realms and defend everyone from her violence. While Sansa was reluctant to go to war, or send her husband to one, they understood that if the South fell, the North was next. 

So, Roose had kissed his wife goodbye, hugged his children and rode South to meet the armies. It had pained him to leave Sansa, Royce who was now five, Rogar who was three and baby Catya, who was just over a year old. They were quite adept at making children, it seemed, his wife blamed ‘Tully fertility’ and she was a warrior in the birthing bed. Of course, she was a warrior in all aspects, his fierce Queen of Ice. 

He glanced to his right, seeing Sansa’s half-brother, Jon Snow, as he watched Lord Stannis speak with the small self-proclaimed queen. His was an odd boy, Roose decided upon meeting him, melancholy and surprisingly meek for the once Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch. In battle, however, he was fierce and unstoppable, a very unique juxtaposition to see in a man. 

They had planned intensely, running over every detail and report to prepare for the dragons. Their losses had been substantial, but the Scorpions had done their duty, grounding the great beasts so men could overwhelm them. Roose had never before split the skin of a dragon, and it was an experience he was rather pleased to add to his repertoire. He’d even cut a section of scaled flesh from the largest, blackest beast to take back to the boys.

The riders from The Vale had taken down the Dothraki riders, overwhelming them in sheer numbers under the direction of Lord Yohn Royce. And Roose had cut down Ser Jorah Mormont, a man from the North who recognized him in the heat of battle. Roose took no pleasure in killing him, but it was necessary and unavoidable. 

Now, as the dragons’ blood flooded the charred fields, he was counting down the hours until he could turn his horse North. 

He watched with a bored expression as King Stannis sentenced her to die and nearly smirked when the woman’s head was cut loose from her body. The last Targaryen, Roose noted, just as mad as the rest. Now she would forever be the young, beautiful ‘Dragon Queen’. 

“It’s done” Stannis sheathed his blade. 

“The Iron Throne remains yours” Roose mused. “We can return to a peaceful land, a quiet people.” 

“I suppose you’re anxious to return home” Stannis mused. 

“If you were married to my Queen, you would be too” Roose quipped, Stannis gave a nod and sheepishly looked away. Roose knew what the others said about Stannis’ sickly wife, and what they said about Sansa’s beauty and couldn’t help but gloat at the Southron king. “I will make arrangements and leave within the sennight, once my men are rested.”

“You have my deepest gratitude” Stannis extended his hand and Roose clasped it. “King to King.”

“King to King,” Roose repeated. “Let’s leave this war business behind us, focus on peace.”

“I agree” Stannis released his hand. “And perhaps one day your sons would like to meet my daughters.” At this, Roose laughed, giving a nod. 

“Perhaps one day.”

“You’re glorious” her husband’s voice sounded behind her and she whirled around in surprise, her hairbrush falling to the floor with a ‘thud’. 

“Roose” she rushed into his arms, holding his broad frame as tightly as she could. She had missed him in the moons he was gone, praying every day for his safety. She turned her face to meet his lips in a kiss, groaning against him as he carried her toward the bed. 

“I missed you” he whispered as she helped him to shuck his clothing. She had been about to get into bed and wore only her nightgown of thin linen, one that was easily discarded as they tumbled to the mattress. “Glorious” he ran a hand over her body to settle on the gentle swell of her stomach. “Seems I left you with 4 children on your hands.”

She covered his hand with her own, “It’s how I know you love me” she smiled beautifully. “You give me everything I could desire.” 

“And what is it you desire now, my Queen?” 

“My husband has been away four moons,” she reached between their bodies, stroking him slowly. “I should like for him to make love to me.” 

“As my Queen commands” he kissed her deeply, settling in the cradle of her thighs and rocking against her. 

“You’re teasing me” she gasped as he nibbled her jaw, neck and shoulder. She tried to reach for his cock but he grabbed her hands, pinning them to the mattress beside her head. 

“What a wanton she-devil you are” he chided and she whimpered. 

“Roose” she pleaded. 

“Beg” he whispered. 

“Please my King” she angled her hips to grind against his shaft. “Please give me your cock. I need it, I need you.” She heard his growl and she knew she’d won, sighing as he held her hands in one of his, using the other to align himself with her slick channel. “Yes” she moaned as he pushed into her. 

“I missed you,” he admitted, his hands holding her pinned as he took her. 

“And I you” she wrapped her legs around him, savouring each thrust. She would never tire of the feeling of Roose’s cock inside of her. Six years of sharing a marriage bed with him and she still ached for him more and more. 

His lips found hers, plundering her mouth as he made love to her, as he made up for the moons he had been away. She hadn’t wanted him to go, but they had to defend their kingdom and her husband was a man adept at violence. 

Soon his pace increased, the sound of their skin slapping together filling the room as she felt her peak coming. 

“Roose” she panted. “Roose…”

“Come on my cock, wife and I’ll give you what you want” he gently bit her lower lip, then ran his tongue along the marks his teeth had left. He must have felt her body began to tremble, because he covered her mouth with his own, swallowing her cries of pleasure as she came around him. He growled in turn and a few thrusts later he poured into her, giving her everything that he had. “Fuck” he whispered, rolling to her side as not to crush her or the baby. 

“Welcome home” she smiled. 

“Indeed” he said quietly, turning to kiss her briefly as he tried to catch his breath. 

“The boys are going to be very happy to see you” she snuggled close, surrounding herself with the feel of her husband. 

“I brought them dragon skin” he said. 

“That is so _you_” she giggled. 

“They should love it,” he explained. “It will likely be the only dragon they ever encounter.” 

“Hopefully,” she kissed the bare skin of his shoulder. “You’re a good father and a good King.” 

“I never thought to be a King” he kissed her forehead. “But you’ve always given me more than I deserved.”

“And you’ve given me beautiful children and a life filled with love,” she replied. “It only seems fair I repay that with a title.” 

“I will endeavor to deserve it” he pulled the blankets and furs over them, warding off the chill of the evening. “Sleep, love, once the children realize I am here in the morning there will be no stopping them.” 

Sansa smiled, knowing full well that they would all be overjoyed to see their father, “I love you” she sighed. 

“And I you” his deep voice rumbled through her as she closed her eyes. Letting sleep take her, knowing she was safe in the arms of her King.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Follow me on tumblr for pic sets and more shenanigans!  
@the-red-wulf or https://the-red-wulf.tumblr.com/


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